


Diplomatic Arrangements

by DianaSolaris



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: (the jealousy is platonic and minor), Bonding, Family Feels, Gen, Jealousy, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Female/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 11:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15170195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSolaris/pseuds/DianaSolaris
Summary: I was inspired by both your prompts so here's a treat :'D It has been... literally years since I wrote for Narnia.(Also, Lucy's ten so it's not exactly easy to tell that she's aro-ish in this; but her distaste towards romance/marriage in this has nothing to do with sexism and everything to do with She's Just Not Into It.)





	Diplomatic Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spellboundreader316](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellboundreader316/gifts), [ChronicBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicBookworm/gifts).



                Queen Lucy the Valiant, youngest of the rulers of Narnia, had absolutely no illusions about what diplomacy entailed. She’d sat in on enough of the meetings of the board, _insisted_ on it in fact; and even before that, she had listened to the radio at her father’s feet, taking in more than she thought her brain could even hold.

                So it wasn’t that she was surprised, or even disappointed that the marriage between Peter and the princess of Archenland had finally been announced. She’d seen all the signs, and the stupid princess had been at the castle for long enough as it was. And Peter was getting so _goopy_ about it too. He obviously liked her.

                In fact, there was absolutely nothing that explained why she was angry enough to be stomping through the mud towards Tumnus’s house on a rainy evening, wanting nothing more than to not be Queen for a little while.

                Tumnus, thankfully, was home, although his eyebrows just about flew off his face as he opened the door and stared at her. Her dress was a ruin; her hair hung in wet clumps around her face. “Queen Lucy! Are you alright?”

                “Lucy. Just – Lucy.” She always said this to him, and she knew what would come next. He’d insist on calling her ‘your majesty’ anyway, and she couldn’t _bear_ it, she _couldn’t –_ “I mean it this time,” she added, trying to sound _bold_ and _valiant_ and breaking down into tears instead.

                “Oh, oh, oh. Come inside, you’re going to catch your death.”

                She did so, and curled up on the rug by the fire, dripping everywhere with a miserable sniff.

                “Let me get you a hot toddy. And – ooh, I have some leftover cake. Food helps warm the soul, you know.”

                She smiled through the tears, although with a hint of embarrassment. How on earth was she going to explain why she was upset? It was so utterly _childish._ Still, by the time Tumnus showed up on the floor next to her with the steaming mug of hot chocolate (she still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that she could _have_ that here – with _brandy!_ ) she had managed to put some of the words together.

                “…Peter’s getting married.”

                “Oh! Congratulations!”

                Lucy narrowed her eyes, and Tumnus quailed. “…Or not?”

                She sighed. “It’s a good thing. I’m just…” She grumbled something nonsensical under her breath. So much for having the words.

                “Your time will come. You’re young yet.”

                “That’s not _it._ I don’t want to get married. I don’t want _any_ of us to get married.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Getting married is for grown ups. Grown ups who don’t _have_ siblings that they should be perfectly happy with, and little sisters who are going to get ignored for some stupid girl who chews with her mouth open and – and there’s going to be a _baby_ eventually and then I won’t be the baby anymore, and I’m not a baby, but…” She trailed off. “Ohh, I’m not making any sense.”

                Tumnus nodded sagely, folding his goat legs under him. “I think I understand. But Peter loves you.”

                “He _does._ But he’s a _king_ now. A High King. And it’s not like I can tell him not to get married! But it’s the four of us for _so_ long.” Lucy sighed. “I don’t want to have to explain all of our games and jokes to somebody who’s never even been to England.”

                “Isn’t there some fun in the explaining? You certainly enjoy telling me all about Spare Oom.”

                “That’s different. I don’t _have_ to.”

                “I suppose you should make the best of it, though. And how bad can she be?”

                “Did I mention she chews with her mouth open?” Lucy grouched. But Mr. Tumnus was right, as per usual. “Her name’s Meena. She’s… pretty, I _guess._ And she swordfights. Which is actually pretty cool.”

                “See? You’re already making the best of it.”

                “I suppose.” She couldn’t help smiling - she was starting to feel like herself again. She didn’t _like_ being jealousy. Then another horrible thought occurred to her. “Oh blimey – you don’t think they’ll make _me_ get married, do you?”

                “You’re about the size of a conker, so I think you’ve got a while to worry yet.”

                “I don’t _want_ to get married. Susan talks about romance endlessly. It’s so dull.”

                “Nobody’s marrying you off, Lucy. Drink your hot toddy.”

                “Okay,” she murmured. She leant her head against Mr. Tumnus’s shoulder, sipping at the warm, strong drink. It’d work out, in the end. And she supposed if it didn’t, she could always get lots of joy out of saying ‘I told you so.’

                But hopefully she wouldn’t have to.


End file.
